Already Gone
by Claratrix LeChatham
Summary: The rebellion is almost as painful for the children born in it's aftermath. What the sons and daughters know, and what they don't. The generation gap is not entirely insurmountable. Post Mockingjay. Because the epilogue didn't quite cut it. Spoiler alert.
1. Rose

**AN/ Spoilers, spoilers, spoilers. A few enormous ones, and a few small ones. Read on at your own risk. Possibly a multichapter.**

**Dedicated to Finnick, because I've always loved him, even when I didn't know he existed. Trufax. **

**Rated: K**

**Spoiler Ranking: 8/10**

Her name is Rose Mellark Everdeen. But she doesn't like how long and formal it sounds. Sometimes, she wishes she could be someone else. But she loves her parents, and her little brother, and she knows that she ought to stay as she is, because they love her, too.

Sometimes, her mother cries. She wishes she could help, that her mother would stop, that she could make her happy. Once, her mother only yelled, sometimes at her father, rarely at her. She thinks that it was better, back when her mother didn't cry so much. When she was done with the yelling, she would smile again, when Rose would climb into her lap, and try to fix it.

The yelling, she could always fix. Only her father made her mother smile after she was done crying. Rose could never help with that.

She doesn't remember what it was like before her brother was born, but she has heard that it was even worse for her parents. She doesn't talk about it, though. Just thinks.

A few of her friends have other relatives, and sometimes she wonders where all of hers are. She has met her grandmother, but only twice. She can't remember her very well, and wishes that she would visit again. Her mother never cries when her grandmother is in the house, but she always does when she leaves.

Her parents do have friends, some in District Twelve, some not. There is Thom, who she has heard represents her district. Thom is not good friends with her father, but her mother sometimes asks for news of a far-away place called District Two. Thom has friends there, friends who her mother sometimes misses.

There is also Delly, who hugs her so much that it hurts, but is always happy. Rose loves it when Delly comes to see her family, because she makes the house feel warmer. Her mother makes it safe, and her father makes it kind, and both of them love her, but they are often lost in worlds of their own. Delly can sometimes make them come out, and when she does, the sun shines brighter.

Rose doesn't know what to think about Annie. Seeing Annie makes her mother cry, but not in the same way. Sometimes happy, sometimes sad. She is a little afraid of Annie, who is so much like her mother, but so different, and who has a son she sometimes brings to see them.

Shoal is three years older than she is, and Rose is scared of him, as well, but in a different way. He is too nice to her, too funny, too beautiful for her to stand it. She will make an effort, but when he smiles at her, she runs for her father, wondering why her cheeks feel so hot.

So many people have been to their house, like the graying Plutarch and Haymitch, who always laughs at things that are not funny, and makes her parents laugh with him. He looks much older than Plutarch, though her parents tell her that he is far younger. That he is too stubborn to die, no matter what his liver tells him.

Rose nods, and she knows what a liver is, but does not understand why Haymitch's wants to kill him. It worries her, and when she is especially nervous, she hugs herself tightly in the place where she is sure that her liver is.

Maybe her's is nicer, but she is too scared of her parents' laughter to ask them. She wants them to love her, to think that she is old, like them, maybe even old enough to learn why her mother is so sad, and her father is so scarred.

She is not sure she wants to know, but there are times that she feels like she has too.

Her favorite thing in the world is the sound of her mother's voice, not just when she is singing, though that is a noise that makes her want to cry and laugh at the same time. She likes it when her mother tells her stories, of a little girl like her, who was so kind that even the ancestor of those patchy, hissing kittens in their basement had to love her.

The stories make her mother cry, but hearing them is almost worth it.

She knows that her parents love her, and that her little brother does, as well, but she also knows that she has to try harder when her mother is in the room. She has to stand up straighter, and act smarter, and try to be more beautiful, because while her father loves her unconditionally, it sometimes feels like she has to earn those hugs and words of praise from her mother.

Every day, she tries to sing like her mother, tries to make the birds outside be quiet when she sings her favorite song. It has never worked, but her father loves to listen to her try. Her mother sometimes has to leave the room, and her heart hurts, because though she knows it isn't her, that it was some terrible tragedy long in the past that made her mother like this, she can't help but take a little bit of blame.

Her mother cries the most when she tries the meadow song, so she has tried to forget it, but she can't. It was too beautiful, the first time she heard it, and it has always played in her mother's voice, if only in her imagination.

Though her mother sounds like an angel, her father smells the best. She told him so, once, and he laughed, ruffling her hair with his floury fingers and telling her that it was the bread, not him. She still loves to hug him, though, and is always careful to breathe extra deep when she presses her nose into his powdery white shirt.

As far as she knows, neither of her parents have ever been afraid of anything. That is why she feels so safe, even when she isn't with them, even when the only thing threatening her is some petty obstacle, like an inability to tie her hair up.

Her father says it is her mother's spirit that makes her brave, but she knows that it is the knowledge that they will always be there that steadies her hands and allows her to knot the bow.

She want to save their energy for the important things, like her mother's tears and her father's fits. But she knows that if there was really a need, they would be there. They would be the first ones to save her.

Though she cannot remember her years as an only child, she wishes she could. It makes her mad, having to share her parents with another child, even if she loves him. Because _their_ love is so valuable. She hoards every moment with either of them.

Then she feels guilty, because her brother is as kind and perfect as her father, and as beautiful and strong as her mother, and yet, he does love her. He loves everyone. He is her own special Delly, always happy. He has not yet noticed that her parents are not perfect, like she has. She ignores their flaws, but she knows that when he learns of them, he will also learn to love those same imperfections that she denies.

She doesn't hate him for it, but she is terribly jealous. She wishes that she was him, that she was happy. And she is, but only sometimes. She can play with him in the meadow, and she can feel like she is bourn aloft in the same wind in which the mockingjays spiral above her. She can also be buried beneath the same soil she plays on, wishing for something better, wishing she was normal, like she knows she isn't.

Her brother will be like that story girl, the one who lived so long ago, the one who no one could help but love. She cannot fathom what it must be like for him, to be so certain of the sun's rising in the morning.

Sometimes, she doubts that it will. But that is only on the long nights, when she can hear her mother screaming, and knows that there is nothing she can do.

Rose has not yet been allowed in the woods. Both times that the trip was offered, her mother deteriorated the night before. She knows that it is not her fault. But her mother has hunted alone, since a thing that her teachers call the rebellion.

It is difficult for her, to learn these things about her mother in a classroom. But she does not know where else to learn them, since she cannot ask her parents. She tries not to make them sad, and she has the sense that knowing that she already knows would hurt them even more.

They will tell her, eventually.

Someday, Rose Mellark Everdeen will be truly happy. But considering the odds stacked against her at birth, that day will not come until she stops trying to make her parents love her, and finally loves herself.


	2. Calsone

**AN/ Guess what? More spoilers. Love you all, and I'm glad you like my people... it started out as me reading the epilogue and realizing that such epilogues are what fanfiction is for.**

**Dedicated to Finnick (again) who I know is up there, parading around in his skivvies and making the angels blush.**

**Rating: K**

**Spoiler Ranking: 9/10**

* * *

His name is Calsone Mellark Everdeen. He loves his name, because his father loves it. He is filled with an endless capacity for such love, and he sometimes sees that in his father.

Though his mother is not so open about it, he can see that she loves him, as well. Sometimes, the love he feels for the world is almost something tangible, like the bread he watches his father pull from the oven. His greatest wish is to share that feeling with his sister, who is the quietest of them all.

Even his mother has to let it out sometimes. But his Rosie tries to hide everything she feels, and it makes his stomach tighten. He wants everyone to be as happy as he is. It is an impossible goal, but one befitting such an optimist.

When he smiles, it is hard for other people not to smile as well. Even the kittens in the basement let him stroke them, beasts that they are. He wears a halo of joy that is hard to resist.

In all the world, his favorite person is his father, who is always so warm and safe, even though he is clearly as scared of something in the past as his mother is. Calsone likes to be near his father, because he likes his flaws, likes how human he is.

When he grows up, Calsone wants to be his father. He wants to be a baker, to live in the house of his childhood, to marry a woman he loves like his father loves his mother.

The people his parents like are always kind to Calsone. Everybody is, though he does not yet understand why. His lovely teacher, Delly, who is the pre-grade instructor at school, has delighted him since their first meeting.

Innocently, he sometimes wishes that she was his mother. Her hugs are warm and tight, and he knows that she loves him almost as much as his parents do.

While his Rosie is shy and hides with their mother, he is always eager to greet any visitors to the home he loves. The big one, Haymitch, has always intrigued him. He compares his own lean build to that of the older man, and wishes he could have a bigger stomach. He is sure that the man must be hiding something inside of it, and takes every opportunity to check that it is still attached.

Haymitch makes his mother laugh, and he is thankful for that.

Once, back when he did not have to go to school, and his mother would carry him with her around the district, she travelled to a place with huge, flying crafts, and people he did not recognize. His sister would not have liked the unfamiliarity, but he was fascinated.

A woman who was surely older than his mother, but much shorter, met them there. She was pretty, he decided, but not as nice as he would have liked. She called his mother things like 'brainless', but she seemed happy to be around that woman, who she called Johanna. Because he loved his mother, he was okay with her friend. It was strange, though, how she would avoid every puddle in the streets, while he splashed eagerly.

Before his sister could return home, the woman had left for a district called Seven. He was a little bit happy, because his Rosie would probably not have liked her very much, at first.

Annie was another person that Calsone could never quite decide whether or not he liked. She was nice enough, but things she said made his mother cry. Her eyes were beautiful, but he could tell that there was something wrong with her. When he asked his father, he had said that Annie was very sad, and she could not feel better for a long time.

Now, he feels bad for having thought poorly of her. He hopes that he is never sad, like Annie is. Even his Rosie always feels better, after a while.

He likes her son, the boy called Shoal. Shoal plays with him, and teaches him rhymes about the sea, and about fish, and tells him stories of how he has almost caught things called 'whales', all by himself, in a very big net he has at home.

When he told his mother the whale story, it made her smile very wide, and she even laughed a bit. Then, his father said something about a person named Finnick being alive again, and his mother was quiet for a whole day.

Though he doesn't know who Finnick is, he assumes that he was one of his mother's other friends. One of the friends who died. She has pictures of them all, in a book that he sometimes likes to look at. He can't read very well, but he has seen the name often.

Calsone only met his grandmother once before, and he can't remember her at all. His Rosie can, though, and she says that she is the best doctor in the whole entire world. He believes her, and wishes that he could meet her again. He is sure that she would love him, too. He wants everyone to love him, because he loves everybody.

The only time he cries is when he hears his mother screaming at night. When he was younger, he used to toddle to her room, trying to comfort her. It made him cry, that he couldn't help, that he made it worse. Even his father's fits are better, though they scare him much more.

His father is the only thing that always remains constant. No matter what, Calsone will be able to find him in the kitchen, to find a loaf of hot bread on the counter, to know that at least one person will be willing to sit down and listen.

When his father hurts himself, trying to stay sane, when he digs his nails into his palms so hard that they draw blood, Calsone can let little worries blossom. That his mother will not love his father any more, that he will have to choose which one he loves more.

It has happened to some of his friends, in pre-grade. Their parents stopped being in love, so he can never fully banish the doubt that his will follow their example. No matter how hard he tries, his mind is too open for the already planted seeds to be banished. And he has tried, every night. When he can't go to sleep, when his Rosie is far away, across the hall, and his mother is restless in the room next to his.

That is when Calsone thinks, really thinks. He is a smart boy, but some doubts defy intellect, and fester in the dark. He worries that he will have nightmares like his mother's, that his friends will die, that the terrible things his Rosie once told him about will happen again.

Because his Rosie is older than him, she has already heard of the Hunger Games in her school. And though their parents forbid her to tell him any more, there is no erasing what he has already heard. That kids, older than Rosie, but not by much, had to die. Two from every single district. That it happened to his own parents, and that is why his dad only has one leg.

His mother yelled at his Rosie when she learned that he had been told. He was too young. But he still understood, and it still made him think, and cry. Not like his mother or his father or his Rosie, but quietly. Thinking of all the dead children.

He still hasn't made the connection between the book of his mother's dead friends and the games that his Rosie told him about. Someday, though, he will.

One thing that Calsone loves, almost as much as he loves his family, is to play. He and his Rosie can dance together in the Meadow, and he feels a state of bliss that many people would trade years of their life to achieve. No life is perfect, but he is certain that his is closer than most.

When he is playing, sometimes he doesn't even notice that when his mother watches them, she cries the same way he does when he thinks of what he doesn't understand at night. Quiet, almost unnoticeable. When he does see it, he wonders what could possibly diminish her spirits in such a place as the Meadow.

It is beautiful, all green and lovely, with a young willow tree that he is sure that he will one day be able to climb. The Meadow is peaceful, unlike his mother's restless eyes, the only part of him that he is certain he owes to her. His grey eyes are not his father's trait, and he loves that his mother gave them to him. He loves feeling like a part of her, because he admires her more than almost anyone else in the world.

Calsone Mellark Everdeen is happy. He will not be truly content, however, until the rest of the word smiles with him. Such is the fate of a true optimist.


	3. Shoal

**AN/ It's difficult to write with one hand, and on mind-altering medications. But I hope I did a decent job of it. Please forgive any typos, though I've tried to fix them all.**

**Rating: K+**

**Spoiler Ranking: 8/10**

**Dedicated to my friends Maren and Kate, because, goodness knows, I wouldn't be lucid without the two of them to poke me into consciousness. Not that I endorse that behavior...**

* * *

His name is Shoal Odair. He likes himself, and he likes his name. It's familiarity is comforting, when so many things aren't. A name is something to hold on to, even when everything else changes.

Things seem to change a lot. And he isn't sure he likes that. Shoal would be happy to live on in the big house by the sea for the rest of his life, with his mother. The two of them know how to be happy, alone. They know how to quietly love each other.

It seems like more people should be like them. He will never fully understand why there are so many crying children, or even why his mother doesn't always seem intact. He has never been as sad as any of them, never known grief. And he would call that a good thing, though there are some who wouldn't. He cites his inexperience as the reason for his bliss, correctly.

School is not difficult for him. He understands what to say to people, to make them smile. It's a gift of his. One that has seen him well. Though he could skate through on charisma alone, he tries not to. He wants to learn, to understand the past. But he can't, because it is farther away from his life than he could ever imagine.

Annie is not a mystery to him. There have been people, official-looking people, who call her 'insane'. He doesn't see the insanity, though he sees the pain in her eyes, usually so guarded. He doesn't understand it. But he doesn't mind how tightly she holds him, crushing him against her, as long as he can hear her breathing. His mother is a constant. She is not unstable. She is the most stable thing in his life.

What bothers him is the realization that he seems to be her only friend. True, there are people she visits, and he can see that they give her happiness. In District Twelve, she knows a woman named Katniss, who he finds singularly mystifying. Surely, she is very powerful. Her face has a strength to it, one that he cannot find in himself or his mother. But her eyes have the same pain as Annie's, and he has seen her cry. The balance is difficult to find.

Another thing out of place in the Twelve place is the uncomfortable number of people in the houses. Certainly, he enjoys his time spent there. The little boy is a better audience than any story-teller could dream of, and his laughter is a delightful thing. The girl, though older, is much too young to be a close friend. He looks forward, however, to the few words he can coax from her. With the baker-man, however, the house holds four people. Altogether too many.

He prefers the quiet comfort of his own home. Though he is willing to have fun telling stories to the little boy, he is relieved to go home.

Shoal is difficult to upset. At school, he has never completely lost his temper, though he has approached it. His best friend, a girl called Lissa, had run past him, her face tear-stained and splotchy. A boy, who he had counted among his friends, laughed after her, walking to Shoal, and declaring that Lissa liked him. It took a good five minutes to explain the details, all of which were forgotten when he realized the implications of what had happened.

The idea didn't bother him a bit. But he was briefly infuriated- so much, that he struck the boy- that his friend had been hurt on account of him. He could not escape the scolding by the yard teacher, or the required apology. Once he got away, he couldn't find the girl, and went home to find that his mother couldn't explain, either.

He is scared, if only a little, of what he can't understand. And Shoal cannot hope to fathom exactly why Lissa had been so upset, or what made him react so violently. Since the day, he has had more trouble talking to her, another inexplicable thing. It bothers him, the not knowing. More than a lot of things.

When his mother cannot provide an answer, whatever situation is made exponentially worse. Though Shoal is often forced into the position as caregiver to his mother, he relies on her advice more than he knows. Because she is constant, where everything around him is not.

He loves her. Though their bond is no more than that of mother and son, it is as strong as such a connection can be. Their state necessitates it.

The sea is another one of his friends. The proximity of the water is ideal; for him, it provides not just entertainment, but a voice. Something to listen to, when his mother may be far away, and his friends may be unpredictable. The sea changes, but it stays the same in that it is always there. Always. There will never be a time when it does not wait for him, down the sandy street, merely a block away.

Fish are a source of fascination, but not a way of life. When he swims, it is not to quarry them, but to experience what their world is like. Cool, but dissonant. Beneath the waves, life is different than it is above. Not always good. Unreliable.

Though he loves the water, he finds sold ground preferable. He craves stability, which is not what the ocean offers. Adventure may be hard to come by, but he prefers it that way. He will seek excitement, but only when he wants it.

Being him is not the easiest thing, but he supposes that there are more difficult things. He could be one of the people in the past, who died. Or he could be one of the few who, like his father, lived. Thinking about that terrible things before his birth. But he will never understand them, because the same thing will never happen to him.

Shoal is smart enough to understand his own connection to the father he never met. He knows that the reason that his mother is in her condition is buried back then, in the past, as well. He has heard much-dramatized tales of the Mockingjay, and the rebellion that began and ended at her hands.

Perhaps it is a good thing, though, that he doesn't know the entire story. Perhaps he is better for his lack of knowledge. Perhaps all the children of the rebellion are.

Maybe, if the world can remember, but at the same time, forget, then it's scars will heal. Shoal is one of the first children born into the new age, and his task is one of acceptance. He must accept that the past is past, and prevent it from becoming the future.

Whether or not compliance is easier than rebellion has yet to be determined, and the outlook is not a good one. There is no real measure by which to standardize life's ease. All of the generation are irrevocably different than their predecessors, and Shoal is no exception.

He sings the same simple songs as those children, though. He plays the same games of sharks-and-fishes, and walks the same weather-worn beach his father did.

Perhaps they are not so different.

His name is Shoal Odair. He is no more than a child, and yet, his name is an omen of change. Of the pain that will never be suffered, and the children who will never be killed.


End file.
